


Byzantine.

by Awriterwrites



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Smut, feeeeeeeelings, poetic PWP, seriously, there's real poetry in this baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 14:02:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14570565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awriterwrites/pseuds/Awriterwrites
Summary: “I came to warm flesh then to hair.” Louis shoves his hand into Harry’s pants. “I went on. I found what I hoped. I groped.” He gives Harry’s cock an experimental squeeze.Harry cries out, “Oh fuck. Louis.”“It was large,” Louis says around a smirk and then goes back to wrapping his fingers around Harry’s dick, the pressure tight, but not nearly enough.“Jesus, Lou, what’s gotten into you?” Harry wonders through a breathless moan. Louis shoves Harry’s jeans down and exposes him to the cool, dry air in their living room, making him shiver despite how hot he feels everywhere.Then Harry remembers.The poem.****





	Byzantine.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by @helloamhere‘s little post the other night linking this [poem](http://www.vulture.com/2008/03/how_dirty_is_that_auden_poem_t.html) . Thank you to @twopoppies for opening my eyes to the glory of this work of art. I was…um…inspired. Enjoy!

**Byzantine.**

“Really? I thought it was hot.” 

Louis’ voice is quiet, not at all combative — he’s just making a point. Almost as innocuous as “ _ hey, we’re out of milk _ ” or “ _ your mum called when you were in the shower _ ”. It was just a statement, but something about it makes Harry’s stomach tumble deep inside, low, anticipation running through him on a current of adrenalin. 

Harry glances away from the road for a moment to look at Louis. He’s picking at his cuticle and peering out the window. The rain is soothing, flashes of red and green and blue dripping in shadowy reflection over the sharp cut of Louis’ cheekbones, the line of his jaw dissecting the beauty of his face in sharp contrast to his soft, distracted smile. 

“Seriously?” Harry slides his car into a parking space in front of their flat. The wipers keep time with the rain. Whomp, whomp, drip, drip. 

Louis looks at Harry, the shock of his blue eyes in the dark car vivid and wildly enticing, like cool water in the dead heat of summer. “I did. You didn’t?”

“N — no.” Sometimes Louis catches him off guard, the jarring feeling that comes with the knowledge that Louis is Harry’s, the fact that he’s his, that Harry actually gets to call him  _ mine _ — the weight of it swirls inside of him like the first drop on a roller coaster. Sometimes Louis makes him feel so carefree it’s terrifying, until he reaches out and holds Harry down to earth. Solid. Perfectly in sync with Harry’s open and trusting heart. “I dunno. It was just a poem.”

“Hm.” Louis licks his lips and Harry watches him. His pink lips glow softly in the muted watercolor light. “I still think it’s hot.” 

Then the world shifts and cool air rushes into the car, Louis moving into the night, rushing through the rain. Harry stumbles after him, pressing the lock button on the car as he jogs to catch up. Louis always seems to be ahead of him. Leading the way. 

****

Two days later and Harry is dead tired, sprawled out on the sofa with Louis at his side. The lights are off and the television makes everything feel cinematic — blue and gray, dramatic. Harry’s restless though. He needs something. He needs Louis. 

He snuggles closer to Louis and sniffs at the side of his head. Vanilla and pine. Louis smiles and tilts his head, his eyes still cast ahead, watching a re-run of The Office that Harry flipped on after their dinner. 

Louis smells good, always, and Harry indulges himself. He presses his lips to the space behind Louis’ ear and let’s his nose travel down the side of Louis’ neck and then back up again, licking soft circles into the salt tender of his skin. 

Louis hums. “Feels good babe.”

Harry takes this as an encouraging sign. 

Teeth graze and nip, and one hand finds its way to the back of Louis’ neck, tangling with the long strands of silken hair as the other skates over the smooth plane of his chest. Louis turns his head, lazy, like a cat stretching out in the sun, and opens his lips to speak. Harry is impatient. He kisses Louis roughly, licking inside with a desperation that had been dormant until just moments before. 

Never one to back down, submission mostly unknown to him, Louis kisses back. Harry feels himself unraveling quickly, his limbs like jelly, his throat burning with all of the unspoken words he wants to shout out to the world about how fucking in love he is with this man in his arms, his life...his  _ bed _ . It never ceases to amaze Harry that a smile, a touch...a kiss...could turn the world on its axis so quickly. It’s something about Louis. Something about Harry. Something about  _ them _ . 

Louis slips his hand under Harry’s worn white t-shirt and moves to straddle him. Once on Harry’s lap he rolls his hips like a ship lost at sea, drowning Harry in desire, pulling him into his tide. Louis’ fingers roll his nipples and Harry moans. The sound of it fills the quiet evening in their cozy flat with want,  _ need _ . 

“ _ The clean white T-shirt outlined. A forceful torso, the light-blue denims divulged. Much _ ,” Louis whispers, the rasp of his voice shallow, his breath hot and wet in Harry’s ear. 

Harry rocks his hips up into Louis before stuttering, “Wh —  _ what _ ?”. 

Louis doesn’t answer, instead choosing to claim Harry’s mouth with his own. The kiss is deep and wet. Messy. Struggling to breathe, to touch every inch he could reach, Harry circles Louis’ waist with one arm and pulls him flush against his chest. He can feel the beginnings of Louis’ erection pushing against his stomach and he feels heat flood every inch of his body. His cock twitches and starts to fill and he  _ wants  _ Louis.  _ Now _ . 

Louis yanks Harry’s head back with strong, deft fingers in his hair and attaches his mouth to Harry’s neck. Harry groans and fucks his hips up into the soft flesh of Louis’ arse, covered in cotton joggers, but still plush and full and begging to be fucked.  

“ _ I trembled, my heart. Thumped and jumped as my fingers went to his fly _ .” Louis whispers, angling his body back and pulling down the zipper of Harry’s jeans so fast Harry feels woozy; light headed. 

“What the fuck?” Harry slurs. His cock pushes out through the opening left by Louis’ nimble fingers. Louis pushes off of Harry, springing to his feet and pulling Harry up with him. His eyes flash in that clever, mischievous way of his and Harry thinks his heart might leap right out of his chest. Fuck. He loves this man so, so much. “What are you —” 

Louis cuts him off again, kissing him on the mouth insistently, tongue curling around his, spreading heat through his hands as they skitter over Harry’s broad shoulders, down his back and cupping the swell of each arse cheek. The jut of Louis’ hip bones press into the cradle of Harry’s pelvis and the feeling of muscled thighs pushing against Harry’s own legs drives him to groan. There’s so much pressure, everywhere they touch, that Harry feels like he’s flying too close to the sun. Hot, hot,  _ hot _ . 

“Need —” 

“ _ I came to warm flesh then to hair _ .” Louis shoves his hand into Harry’s pants. “ _ I went on. I found what I hoped. I groped _ .” He gives Harry’s cock an experimental squeeze. 

Harry cries out, “Oh fuck.  _ Louis _ .”

“ _ It was large _ ,” Louis says around a smirk and then goes back to wrapping his fingers around Harry’s dick, the pressure tight, but not nearly enough. 

“Jesus, Lou, what’s gotten into you?” Harry wonders through a breathless moan. Louis shoves Harry’s jeans down and exposes him to the cool, dry air in their living room, making him shiver despite how hot he feels everywhere. 

Then Harry remembers. 

_ The poem _ .

The poetry slam they’d been to the other night.

Harry had gone against his will, poetry not his thing, but he loves Louis and Louis loves poetry. So. He had gone to the poetry slam. And that _ psuedo-beatnik throw back hipster _ had read that poem. About  _ blow jobs _ . 

Louis is quoting  _ poetry _ . About  _ blow jobs _ .

Harry’s brain short circuited and he felt pre-come dribble over the head of his cock and he suddenly wants Louis underneath him. Or on top of him. He could care less about logistics but suddenly kissing half naked in the living room  _ definitely  _ is not enough.     

“Bed,” Harry pants, kicking off his jeans. “ _ Room _ .” He knows he’s not being exceptionally articulate at the moment but he has needs. His cock has  _ needs _ . “ _ Now _ .” Harry sounds like a neanderthal between grunts and pawing hands but he still doesn’t care. He scoops Louis up, reveling in the small shriek Louis emits as he wraps his thick thighs around Harry’s middle. Harry grins to himself, enjoying the power differential for a moment, knowing full well  it won’t last. It never does. His fingers sink into the meaty flesh of his boyfriend’s arse and fuck, he’s a lucky man. 

They stumble to the bedroom, kissing and shedding clothing until they are skin to skin, Harry’s entire body on fire with the need for more. He tosses Louis to the bed, eyes glued to the hard line of Louis’ cock, stiff and curving up toward his stomach. It’s wet at the head and he just wants a little taste. Bending over Louis’ supine body, Harry goes in mouth first. 

He dips his tongue into the slit, mouth exploding with the salt of it, the familiar tang that makes his own cock throb between his legs. 

“ _ A royal column, ineffably solemn and wise _ ,” Louis whispers, a small whine at the end as Harry wraps his lips around the head, tongue swirling, spit gathering at the corners of his lips, a deep moan traveling from his throat around the shaft that slips farther and farther into his mouth, bumping the back of his throat. He swallows around the head and quickly slides back up again. The words fall from Louis’ lips like sin, slithering inside Harry’s mind, making him practically frenzied to hear more, get more — take more. 

With a kind of fervor that borders on possession, Harry starts to bob up and down. The wet, heavy weight of Louis’ cock on his tongue feels perfect and real and grounding to him in a way that not much else ever can. He could die on this cock. He could die happy with Louis’ cock choking him like this. 

Louis is writhing on the bed beneath him, thrusting his dick deep into Harry’s mouth and these noises — these  _ sounds  _ — are coming out of him that sound like the  _ best  _ kind of porn and it just  _ fuels  _ Harry, makes him go harder, take him deeper. He swallows and swallows, knowing that Louis won’t last. Knowing that each sound, each stutter of his boy’s hips, is bringing him closer to falling apart. 

Without any kind of warning, Harry finds himself thrown on to his back, Louis plastered to his front, his wet, messy cock sliding up against Harry’s, making him cry out — the sensation is almost too much. 

“ _ Louis _ !” He cries out, grappling for something to hold on to. He lands on Louis’ arse, as usual, and he grinds their cocks together, making them both moan in unison. Louis kisses him, groaning when he tastes his own dick on Harry’s tongue. Harry wants to flip them again but Louis is doing this thing with his tongue that has Harry seeing stars. 

Louis sits up, wrigging until Harry’s cock finds its way between his arse cheeks and Harry lets out a shaky breath that belies the overpowering need he’s feeling. 

“ _ Except for a spur of golden hairs that fan to the neat navel, the rest of the belly was smooth _ .” Louis was back at it and Harry was absolutely powerless. He arches his back when Louis’ fingers find their way to his nipples. He pumps his hips up against the heat of Louis’ arse and he opens his mouth in a silent scream when Louis screws his hips down.  _ Hard _ . 

“ _ I shook at the touch of his fresh flesh, I rocked at the shock of his cock _ .”

“Louis — Lou...please.” Harry is lost to Louis’ skin. To the sound of his voice. The ghost of his kiss. His  _ cock _ . 

"’ _ Shall I rim you?’ I whispered. He shifted his limbs in assent _ .” Louis releases Harry, his thighs relenting and opening the cage they have on him. He pushes Harry to his side and then fully on to his belly. Harry sighs as he feels firm hands pushing his legs apart from behind. “ _ Turned on his side and opened his legs, let me pass to the dark parts behind. I kissed as I went the great thick cord that ran back from his balls to his arse _ .”

Hot air flows over Harry’s hole and he feels himself clench around the thick wetness of Louis’ breath. Louis licks over him, intimate and soft, reverent in a way that challenges the brashness of the words he speaks. There isn’t much preamble, Louis digging his fingers into the round, firm mounds of flesh so he can spread Harry apart, when his tongue thrusts it’s way inside, followed by a deep, harsh moan that makes Harry quiver. 

His boy has a hell of a mouth on him. 

Wet. Harry feels wet. His dick is dripping, his arsehole is slick with saliva, his balls are sweaty and catching spit and pre-come and he just wants to come. The way Louis is reciting those fucking words like he means them — like he means them about  _ Harry _ , not just some random weirdo on a stage with people snapping like lunatics for him — the way Louis says them they... they sound like  _ poetry _ . They sound like fucking stardust and magic and heaven and they sound like a crescendo, building and building and building. 

When Louis fucks a finger inside with his tongue, Harry arches his back deep as he throws his head back and shouts. It feels so good to be fingered and tongued like this. It feels so good to be wanted like this. It feels like everything Harry has ever wanted. Ever needed. 

Louis’ mouth is gone then and Harry could cry he misses it so much. Louis kisses up the line of Harry’s spine, voice harsh and just as affected as Harry, and he whispers into Harry’s ear, “ _ Naked, enlarged, charged, aching to get sucked _ .” 

“Yes, yes,  _ fuck _ .  _ Please _ .” Harry knows he sounds desperate.  _ Fuck _ . He  _ is  _ desperate. So fucking desperate. 

Louis rolls him over and stares down at his cock, hunger burning in his eyes, from the way he grips Harry, hard and a little dry, the shocking burn of it so so good. Louis slips between Harry’s legs and whispers, against Harry’s aching shaft, “ _ Of his cock, I looked through the forest of pubic hair to the range of the chest beyond rising lofty and wide _ .”

Harry widens his legs, a slight tremor raising through them and he just...let’s go. Louis leans down and licks. Just one, hot, wet lick. And Harry can’t keep in the moans that stream from his mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Yes, god. Please.”

Louis hovers over Harry’s cock, letting a slow dribble of saliva roll over the crown. He uses it, and the copious amount of precome, to wank Harry, slow and teasing. His blue eyes glitter when he looks up at Harry.  _ “Slipping my lips round the Byzantine dome of the head with the tip of my tongue I caressed the sensitive groove.”  _

And then...he does just that. Louis fits his lips over the head and keeps jacking Harry from base to head, meeting his hot, wet mouth. He tongues over the sensitive ridge again and again until Harry is shaking — his legs tremble and his body quakes, nipples erect in the cold air, sweat cooling in his armpits, mouth dry from panting. 

“ _ Gently, intently, I slid to the massive base _ ,” Louis mumbles around the head. Harry feels a tear slip from his eye. Louis pulls in air and sucks, sliding down, down, down, as far as he can go, meeting his hand. Harry feels the air pull from his lungs and he sees a blinding flash of blue and red and orange behind his eyes. The colors swirl as his body tenses, his knees draw up, making more room and his arse flexes. 

Louis pops off and breathes over the engorged head of Harry’s cock. Harry whines as Louis says, in that raspy, fucked out voice of his,  _ “His soul reeled in the feeling. He whimpered ‘Oh!’ As I tongued and squeezed and rolled and tickled and swung. Then I pressed on the spot where the groin is joined to the cock, slipped a finger into his arse and massaged him from inside.” _

“Please, please, please,” Harry pleads, his voice cracking, his fingers clawing at the sheets below. 

Louis makes good on his poetic promise, he fucks his finger deep inside Harry while he bobs up and down, finger-fucking him using the same rhythm. Harry begs, his voice shaking and his balls tightening. Louis moans around him and that’s all it takes for Harry to come. 

“F — fuck!” He shouts and spills, long and hot inside the hot, tight confines of his boyfriend’s mouth. “Y — yes, yes. Baby. Fuck!” 

Louis keeps his lips wrapped around the head, lapping at every single drop, while using his hand to work Harry through his release. Harry comes for what feels like an impossibly long time. When he’s finished Louis works his way up Harry’s body. He grips Harry’s jaw firmly and presses his lips to Harry’s. Harry opens immediately, licking inside only to taste his own come. Louis lets a mouthful of it pass between them and they kiss around the salty liquid, licking and fucking their tongues inside each other’s mouths, filthy and full of heat until the taste is gone. The only thing remaining, the heat and residual lust that always simmers beneath the surface. 

“ _The secret sluices of his juices began to unlock. He melted into what he felt. ‘O Jesus!’ he cried. Waves of immeasurable pleasures mounted his member in quick spasms._ _Into me, rich and thick, his hot spunk spouted in gouts, spurted in jet after jet_.” Louis whispered the words in jagged pants and moans as he rubbed against Harry’s hip, his own cock thick and hard, until he went rigid and Harry felt hot come spilling against his skin. Louis moaned quietly in Harry’s ear and Harry felt his own cock stir. God. Just his voice. Gets Harry every time. 

The room was quiet except for the sound of their harsh breathing and residual moans, getting softer and softer until they were sparse, fading into sighs of contentment. 

“Louis...that was…”

Louis kissed Harry’s shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Fuck, yeah.” Harry felt completely spent. 

Louis hummed and ran a sticky hand over the cooling skin of Harry’s torso. Harry shivered. 

“For the record, I never said I didn’t like that poem.” Harry yawns, running his hand down the sweat slick curve of Louis’ back. 

“Liar.”

It’s quiet for a moment. “Um. Will you — can we —”

“Baby. I’ll recite whatever you want. Whenever you want. Wherever you want,” Louis says quietly, shifting, their skin starting to fuse together from sweat and come. A shower will be good, Harry thinks. But first he wants to just be in this moment with his boy. 

“Anything?” Harry asks, a giggle rising in his chest. 

“Anything but that,” Louis says, a smile spreading against Harry’s shoulder. 

Later, when they are in the shower and Harry has sunk to his knees, Louis bent in half, gripping the edges of the tub for support, Harry waits patiently, teasing Louis’ rim with small, tight circles of a barely there tongue. 

“F — fuck. F — fine!” Louis cries out, pushing backward against Harry’s open, but unmoving, mouth. “A, B, C, D…”

The rest of the rhyme gets lost in the shower mist when Harry pulls him open and slurps on the ring of muscle that makes Louis keen. When his tongue pushes inside and he tugs the rim between his lips, Louis devolves into a litany of curses and decidedly un-flowery words. 

It’s still poetry to Harry’s ears. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think of it. Rebloggable post [here](http://a-writerwrites.tumblr.com/post/173672996575/i-came-to-warm-flesh-then-to-hair-louis-shoves)


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